Fire trucks and police officers

It’s been more than a month since we came up with this new babymaking plan.  I had a few appointments weeks ago, but it has otherwise been a quiet month, and we haven’t had the emotional ups and downs of a cycle in which we’re actually trying.  I’ve been telling myself that I should enjoy the break, but I’ve mostly been feeling antsy and eager to get started.  If this is what we’re going to do, let’s DO IT already.

And then came Wednesday.  My period was due.  If it came then I would need to get to the doctor on Friday for CD3 bloodwork and ultrasound.  But Fridays are usually my day home with Tadpole.  It would be tough to figure out last-minute early-morning work-week babysitting.  And besides not wanting to bring a kid to a fertility clinic, I couldn’t exactly imagine bringing my 4-year-old to the ultrasound appointment.  So I worried all day about what would happen and how we would make it work…and then my period didn’t show.  It was a sudden reminder of the unpredictabiliy and lack of control that make this process so hard.  I can’t control or predict when AF will come or how many monitoring appointments I’ll have, or when I’ll need to schedule the IUI(s).  And, even harder, I can’t control or predict when/if I will finally get  pregnant or whether I’ll stay that way .  So I was in tears about all of that on Wednesday night.  Which of course was partly PMS because my period showed up on Thursday morning.  Sigh.

That meant that the appointment happened on Saturday morning, and it was fine.  The doctor (not my usual one) said I had “museum-quality ovaries.”  I was reassured, but also weirded out by the idea of my ovaries being on display in a museum.  I think that showing them to all of the healthcare professionals that I’ve visited so far (and talking about them with all of you) is plenty, thanks.

To thank you for your patience with my TTC angst, some Tadpole stories:

  • He’s gotten a tiny bit better about getting dressed, but most mornings still involve some sort of struggle.  After a particularly tough one a few days ago he (completely spontaneously) said to me, “Momma, you are a good mom!”   He also told Roo the other night, “you are my best friend!”  I guess we’ll have to keep him after all…
  • For Tad’s birthday party back in January, my clever artistic Roo made a fire truck for him out of a giant box.  He loved it and spent tons of time playing in it.  Then, a month or so ago when he was sick, he curled up in it to “take a rest.”  We have since moved it up to his room (and put some big pillows in it), and he has slept in it many nights.
  • A Tadpole monologue in the car the other day: “That car is going too fast.  If I were a poh-yice officer, I would give that person a ticket…but first I would need a stepstool to reach their window.”
Advertisements

3 Comments

Filed under Parenthood, Tadpole, TTC #2

3 responses to “Fire trucks and police officers

  1. First of all, I am sending you all the positive, good thoughts that I have for this next round. I am glad that you all have a new plan and you are able to get started on putting that plan into action. Sometimes, I feel like just knowing what the plan is can be a big relief. Lots of people out here rooting for you!

    Second of all, those stories of your adorable and delicious son are simply delightful. Keep ’em coming!

  2. Wishing you lots of luck for this cycle!

  3. Museum-quality ovaries! Love it. I got told that I had a very pretty colon once…

    Glad the Saturday thing worked out for you, but I’m sorry you had to be reminded what a massive mind-f*ck all this lack of control is.

    Tad’s monologue is priceless. Follow him around writing down everything he says, okay?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s